


Canis Minor

by eelareea



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - College/University, Dogs, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Nerdiness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eelareea/pseuds/eelareea
Summary: Dan is a lonely ballet dancer who stumbles upon an ad selling puppies on his way to practice. Intrigued, he contacts the owner of the pups and discovers that love is only a fluffy paw away...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my very first phanfiction (and fanfiction in general). I really hope you like it and I will try my best to post Chapter One as soon as possible (:

_"Are you lonely at night?_  
_Do you miss all the glory_  
_And the mythical story_  
_Of the Olympian life?"_

* * *

 

You smile so hard, tears start to form at the corners of your eyes.

You don't just hear the clapping, you feel it reverberating in your bones, so you clasp your sweaty hands a little more tightly around the pretty bouquet you are holding and bow your head again, trying to keep your trembling body steady on your ballet shoes-clad feet. 

And then the lights are gone.

Your muscles, strained and burning now, unclench painfully.

Your breathing stops for a second as exhaustion and euphoria take over you all at once.

You inhale, but it comes out as an unattractive snuffle and without even noticing you suddenly find yourself half crying, half laughing in the dressing room, surrounded by the other male dancers, all at different stages of getting undressed.

  
"Are you okay, Dan?" asks Li Yong, concern-tinged voice.

You assure him that everything is fine, you are just so, so tired. He timidly smiles up at you, then goes back to removing black eyeliner from his lower lid. He understands.

  
You've been doing ballet since you were five years old.

Grandma had been the prima ballerina at the Scala for sixteen years when she ultimately decided to start teaching at the Accademia of Milan.

She was always supporting you, even when your hasty, presumptuous personality took its toll on you and the people around you.

Even when your parents decided that you were only a disgrace to the family.

"It's a delight to look at you. You must have been a swan in your past life..." she used to murmur, glossy eyes trained on the flawless fouetté en tournant you were executing.

And you would scoff, run your pale fingers through that curly mess of brown hair that you never combed and tell her to stop talking nonsense.

A lot has changed since those afternoons at the Accademia. You still dance like some posh bird, but Grandma is not there anymore, your hair is always professionally styled and you haven't breathed in Milan's smoggy air in years.

London has been treating you fairly well.

It is familiar and lively, its people and its noises encircling you like a warm hug. And yet you still feel that solitude that has always accompanied you like a mark on your skin, a tiny freckle of torment in your heart.

You finish changing hurriedly.

The other boys chat and laugh loudly, their spirits lifted by the success of tonight's show.

You can't help but smile softly: after all, you feel the same, you just don't have the need to express it so eagerly.

You just want to go back to your flat, submerge yourself in a hot foamy bath and then go straight to bed.

"You've done exceptionally well tonight, Dan. Good job." Fabrice, étoile and choreographer of the company, smiles up at you, showing both thumbs up in appreciation.

  
A high-pitched, awkward laugh is forced out of your throat as you thank him.

You have never been good at taking compliments (or interacting with people in general, really) and the fact that the person in question is an incredibly talented ballerino makes you feel inadequate.

But you agree: your performance was indeed better than usual, as proved by the sheer amount of pink stargazer lilies and beautiful peach-coloured roses that confer the semblance of a secret garden upon the dressing room.

The taxi ride to your apartment is silent. It starts raining.

You feel as if you were a child again, inside the safe haven that is Mum’s car.

The amniotic tranquillity of it all makes you slightly sleepy, so you start scrolling through your Twitter feed to fight the feeling of drowsiness that is slowly settling into your body.

A lot of your followers (you don't want to call them your "fans", that's just weird) are congratulating you for tonight's ballet.

You like all the comments, pride swelling in your chest like a balloon.

  
The cab pulls up in front of your apartment block and it is now time to drag your spent body up, to the third floor and into your flat.

When you enter, you opt not to turn the lights on, way too dazzling for the state you are in, and orient yourself using the light of your phone.

You drop your bag at the entrance and take your shoes off.

The bath could wait until tomorrow, you decide.

As you collapse on your bed, still half-dressed, a fleeting thought crosses your mind. It tickles your brain like a feather.

You finally fall asleep, a serene smile plastered on your face.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

 

* * *

 

 

It all happens on a rainy, late December night.

The Christmas decorations are all still up in the cosy Lester household.

Panic mixed with a generous dose of excitement is cursing through Phil's veins as he shout-whispers at nobody in particular, gesticulating wildly: "Oh my God... I'm going to be a Grandfather." He's pacing around the living room, unable to stay still.

"You aren't, technically" points out Martyn nonchalantly, eyes trained on his phone.

Phil stops in his tracks and turns to face Martyn: "Yes I am! She's my baby and..."

Phil's retort is interrupted by his Mum who exits the bedroom door, a huge grin on her tired face.

"There's two of them. I'm pretty sure one's a boy but I don't know about the other, it's hard to tell at this stage" she informs him. Phil can't believe his ears. Two. His adorable little Buffy just had two adorable little puppies.

"Can I see them?!" he blurts out, unable to contain his enthusiasm. His mum nods, but before opening the door she orders sternly: "Just be quiet and don't touch them for now."

Buffy is laying on her pink dog bed, which has been covered in fleece baby blankets for the occasion, her dark eyes half closed in a peaceful expression. One of the babies is nursing, while the other is trying to wobbly climb over the fluffy expanse of his mother's belly in a reckless attempt to explore his surroundings. Phil coos over the tiny fluffballs, eyes shimmering with pride.

"We're calling this one Thor, for sure" he giggles, pointing his index at the more adventurous one.

As the cold rain starts to abate on that quiet December night, Phil makes a wish in his heart to find the perfect homes for the two of them and already feels that pang of bittersweet melancholy at the thought of them leaving.

 

They actually end up calling them Lola and Leo because Mrs Lester has a thing for names that roll off the tongue nicely and Leonardo Di Caprio, apparently. Buffy is an absolutely fantastic mother and the two puppies grow so much in the first couple of weeks that Phil worries they might start to wander off the house untended, so he puppy-proofs his bedroom and makes sure the door is closed every time he leaves the room.

He also learns pretty quickly that puppies poop. A lot. When he isn't furiously studying for his next exam, Phil can be found cleaning up after those two little fluffy poop-machines.

 

On New Year's Eve, he watches the annual pyrotechnic display decorate the black canvas that is London's sky from the lounge's window. He takes a sip from the thin wine glass that tinkles softly when his nails graze the rim. He likes the vibrant colours, but can't really stand the blaring noise of the fireworks, so he is glad to be in the safety of his family home.

Buffy trots into the room, her delicate paws barely touching the ground. She whimpers and hides between her owner's long leg, both ears folded to the sides of her head. She really doesn't like the fireworks. Phil sets his glass on the windowsill and picks her up, trying his best to comfort the frightened pet. He cradles her gently and she ends up falling asleep against his warm chest, like a baby seeking comfort.

 When he brings her to his bedroom to place her in the dog bed, he sees the two puppies already fast asleep and he can't stop a fond smile from tugging his lips upwards.

He feels so lucky. Sure, he isn't incredibly rich and he admits that sometimes he feels quite alone in his small apartment, but he has a loving family and the most adorable pets he could wish for.

In just three weeks he will have to return to his flat because of the start of exam season and by that time he really should have found a new potential family for the puppies. Of course, the two Pomeranians will actually leave their mum at three months of age, like they are supposed to but he wants to be prepared in advance.

As he closes the door behind him, the clock strikes midnight and he almost feels like he is leaving the past behind and entering a new year of possibilities.


End file.
